And then his voice, muffled but clear, right on the other side:
“Incy wincy spider, trembling on her thread,
Hoping that the shadows will keep her safe in bed.
But darkness knows her secret, knows she’s mine to claim.
And when the night is over, she’ll never be the same.”
I choke on a sob, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.
But the door doesn’t open.
Silence.
When I finally gather the courage to peek, I see nothing through the peephole. Just the empty, flickering hallway.
But I know he’s still out there.
Waiting.
And I know deep down that this game is far from over.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, the motel room suffocating me with stale air and the scent of fear clinging tomy skin. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still right there—just beyond the door, waiting for me to make a sound.
I reach for my phone, fingers trembling, and see another message notification flashing on the screen. I hesitate, but my curiosity and terror are a tangled mess, and I can’t help myself. I unlock it.
You disappointed me, Little Spider. You didn’t play fair.
My stomach knots. I can barely keep my hands steady as I type back.
I did what you asked. I answered.
The reply comes immediately.
But you lied. You didn’t answer the last question. That’s not how the game works.
I bite down on my lip, tasting blood. I can’t let him win, can’t give him that satisfaction. But he’s right—I didn’t answer. I don’t know how.
My phone buzzes with another message.
I’m going to give you one more chance. Open the door, and we’ll play a different game. One where you can win. Or you can keep hiding. Your choice.
My heart pounds. He can’t be serious. I can’t just let him in.
You’re not coming in. I don’t trust you.
The reply is almost instant.
You don’t have to trust me. You just have to obey. Open the door, Raven.
I swallow, feeling the walls press in on me. I want to scream at him to leave, to go away, but deep down, something else stirs—a dark, confusing curiosity. What would happen if I just opened it? If I let him see how broken I am, how desperate?
My phone pings again. Another voice message. I press play, barely breathing.
His voice, low, rich, dripping with dark promise:
“You’ve already let me in, Little Spider. You just haven’t realised it yet. You’re mine. You’ve been mine since the first night I watched you look over your shoulder and shiver. Since you didn’t call the cops. Since you didn’t block my number. You’re inviting me in every time you answer.”
